


Picking Up The Pieces

by Shiny_Pichu



Category: Spider-Man (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: AU where everything is the same except Peter didn't refer to Otto as his best friend, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Fix-it fic, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, Tags will be added as chapters update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:42:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21943075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiny_Pichu/pseuds/Shiny_Pichu
Summary: In the aftermath of the Goblin War, Peter works to repair his relationship with Harry as best he can, with mixed results.
Relationships: Harry Osborn/Peter Parker
Comments: 29
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Big BIG thank you to [Penn_Dragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penn_Dragon/pseuds/Penn_Dragon) for being my beta-reader! Couldn't have gotten the nerve to post this without you.

“Harry!” Peter picks up his pace ever so slightly to a brisk, almost-jog, leaving behind Max and the rest of the Horizon High group to catch up with the lone pair walking a sizeable distance ahead of them on the winding path through the cemetery. “Wait up!”

Both Harry and Anna Maria halt their leisurely stride, pausing whatever casual conversation they seemed to have been in the middle of, and look over their shoulders at Peter approaching. Harry turns his body around more fully when Peter comes to a stop in front of him, smiling faintly as he says, “Yeah?”

“Uh,” Peter’s mind stalls for a moment, realizing now that he’s standing here initiating this, he didn’t think through how exactly he’d word things. “Are you…um. Doing anything after this?” He tries but fails miserably to maintain eye contact for more than two seconds, and his hand comes up restlessly to scratch at the back of his head. “I mean—” an awkward clear of the throat, “I thought we could…sit down and talk for a minute.”

Harry’s smile falters, “Oh, well—” he lifts his currently only functional arm up, turning up his wrist to glance down at the face of his watch, “I do have this meeting with the Oscorp PR team in about an hour…”

“Oh—right. Yeah, of course. Yeah.” Peter is quick to force a smile and nod along, shoving both hands in his pants pockets. “That’s fine. I-it’s not important or anything. It can wait—”

“But I can reschedule it,” Harry talks over Peter’s fumbling with a somewhat amused look. “That’s kind of a perk of being head of the company, you know.” He flashes a grin as he pulls out his phone from an inside jacket pocket, “Give me a sec.” And then he’s turning to walk a handful of steps away while punching in buttons with a thumb.

Peter watches him go, watches him put the receiver to his ear as he finishes dialing, and it’s while he’s speaking to the person on the other end of the line that Anna Maria clears her throat at Peter’s side.

“Well…I should get going,” she smiles gently, her eyes still a little red and puffy at the edges, but there’s a serenity to her expression that certainly wasn’t there before they were joined by the others at Otto’s grave. “Take care of yourself, Peter,” she adds with a comforting touch to his arm.

But before she can completely withdraw her hand back, Peter takes it with both his own, turns towards her, and gives it a reassuring squeeze, “Thank you,” he says firmly, for all the gentleness in his smile, “for all your help.”

Anna Maria’s smile flickers a little wider at that, and she looks down a bit bashfully, blinking back what is quite possibly the threat of more tears. “…I was happy to.”

Peter gives her hand one firm shake before letting go, his own hands sliding themselves back into his pockets, “Maybe Spider-Man could use your help again sometime in the future?”

The woman’s smile grows warmer, and she wipes something away from her eye before replying, “If he thinks I can be of any assistance…I’d like that a lot.”

They smile at each other in quiet understanding, and then Harry is coming back while tucking his phone away into his back pocket. He says they’re all set, and after they both exchange final goodbyes with Anna Maria, the two boys part ways with her and start walking their own route through the grassy knoll of headstones.

“…How long’s that on for, by the way?” Peter breaks the silence after a time, motioning with his head and a shift of the eyes to the cast and sling encasing Harry’s right arm.

“Oh, this old thing?” Harry jokes with a slight lift of said arm. “It looks worse than it is, actually,” he continues more seriously, with a somewhat wry smile. “But at least six weeks, just to be safe.”

“Well, hey,” Peter goes on, easily falling into step with the other as they approach the iron gates that mark the exit to the cemetery, “If you ever need help with anything, just let me know, okay?”

Harry’s smile and eyes go soft at that, prompting a sudden flutter in Peter’s stomach. “Yeah… Thanks, Pete.”

Peter can’t help mirroring that smile, though he’s sure it’s already gone wider and brighter, “Anytime, Harry.”

They keep walking for a while until they reach Central Park, brimming with far less activity than would usually be expected on your average late morning. But with construction scattered about the whole of the city in attempts to rebuild the most recent supervillain-caused destruction, there are less people out on the streets in general, leaving most public places such as this oddly barren.

But all the better for them, Peter thinks, pointing out an empty bench he and Harry can claim for themselves. Peter takes up the left side of it, while Harry lowers himself gingerly to his right. At Peter’s concerned look at Harry’s wincing, Harry smiles strained but reassuringly and answers before anything can be asked, “It’s just the bruises.” He sets a careful hand at his ribcage as he adjusts his seating position slightly, making sure to keep his spine straight. “That’s what I get for sacrificing durability for mobility on my goblin armor,” he adds with a dry chuckle. “Anyway.” Quick to change the subject, he looks over at Peter expectantly. “What did you want to talk about?”

Peter straightens up in his seat, “Oh—um.” He’s noticing a pattern here. He had all that time walking to think of how he was going to phrase things, and he’d wasted it just being caught up in the glow of Harry at his side, with the two of them still able to converse together normally. Still with Harry able to smile in his direction. “Right. Well…” Peter looks away and fidgets with a crease in his necktie that isn’t really there. “I just thought with…everything that’s been going on—me helping out with arranging Otto’s funeral, you in and out of the hospital—I haven’t had a chance to…you know. See how you’re doing.” His fingers abandon the tie in favor of running restlessly through his hair, and only then does he chance a glance at Harry. “Make sure you’re okay.”

Surprise briefly filters through Harry’s facial features, and all too soon it shifts to a grimace of a smile as he turns away and casts his gaze to the ground.

“…I guess…” he begins quietly, rubbing at the back of his neck with a hand, “…I’m as okay as I can be, all things considered.”

Peter doesn’t speak up again right away. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, in order to choose his next words carefully—a skill he feels he’s in desperate need of practice in—and only then does he disrupt the stillness. 

“Look,” he starts off gently, echoing Harry’s downward stare, though instead he focuses on his hands fiddling with each other in his lap, fingertips pressing into and easing away from each other. “We…don’t have to get into anything right now. I know this probably isn’t the best time for it. I just…” he trails off, losing some of his nerve. He forces his hands into fists to keep them from fidgeting, then takes a breath to re-center himself, and continues on decisively, “I just wanted to let you know I’m here to listen. If or when you want to talk. About anything.”

Peter is met with heavy silence, and that alone is enough to churn his stomach with a bout of immediate regret at ever opening his mouth. But when he glances over at Harry it somehow makes the feeling even worse. While Harry doesn’t seem particularly angry or upset, he’s not smiling, nor is he looking any less downcast as he avoids looking Peter’s way.

But he does seem to be thinking something over, so Peter waits. And then, finally—

“…I appreciate the sentiment, Pete,” Harry murmurs, at last lifting his head up, but still not looking in Peter’s direction. “Really, I do.” And there is sincerity in those words to lighten the sullenness of his tone. “But…” He turns his head completely away, so Peter can only gauge his emotions by the sound of his voice. “There’s nothing to really talk about, is there?”

“Harry…” Peter starts, turning in towards him. “That’s…not true. I mean, if anything—” he huffs a frail laugh, “—we don’t talk _enough_. At least, not lately. Not without—” he gestures vaguely with his hands, “—being interrupted by spider monsters or missiles and lasers or teched-up vigilantes trying to kill us. Oh—!” His gesticulating freezes. “Or _burning buildings_. What is _up_ with that anyway? Like, did the both of us insult the same fire witch or something and now we’re cursed to get ourselves stuck in a sea of flames at least once a month?”

Harry abruptly makes an odd, stifled noise, his shoulders trembling with the sound, and it quickly becomes apparent that he’s trying to suppress laughter. His one hand goes to his mouth as he stubbornly doesn’t turn around for Peter to see his face, but Peter is already beaming ear-to-ear in delight.

“Aww, and here I thought you didn’t like my jokes?” he coos playfully with a light elbowing into Harry’s side.

“I _don’t_ —” Harry immediately retorts, whirling back around to impressively glare at Peter even while his mouth contorts to fend off a smile. “That’s _not_ funny and you know it—” A snicker makes it through his defenses and he slaps a hand back over his mouth.

“Then why are you laughing?” Peter grins.

“Because you’re such a freakin’ _doof_ ,” Harry says through a chuckle as he gives up the fight and shoves at Peter’s shoulder without any real force to it.

Peter is so easily pulled into laughing along with him, and he pushes sharply against Harry’s shoulder with his own in retaliation. “Hey— I’ll be the biggest doof around if it makes you smile like that.”

That was maybe more honesty than Peter meant to let slip, and his stomach does an anxious somersault at the way Harry stumbles over a short laugh while his cheeks turn a sudden pink. But although he does look away, the smile that remains seems sincere.

“…Listen,” Harry says after a pause, voice dipping back to solemn quiet, and Peter retreats back a few inches to give him his space within their shared seating arrangement. “If there’s one thing I want to tell you…” he speaks to the ground, frowning, and takes a breath before continuing on, “…it’s…I’m sorry. For everything.” His hand comes up to rub at his right upper arm. “For lying to you. For not trusting you. And all that stuff I said before, back with the cyber goblins…”

“I’m sorry too,” Peter cuts in gently, leaning into his palms as they press into his knees, “Looking back, I…said some things in the heat of the moment that…I really didn’t mean.” He sneaks a glance at the other’s face, “…I know I can always trust you, Harry.”

That does pull a faint smile out of the boy in question, and he looks over too, “And you know I’m not actually still mad about the whole Spider-Man thing…right?”

“Well…” Peter averts his gaze and rubs at the back of his neck, “…you probably still are,” he admits with a smile. “But that’s okay.” At Harry’s slightly puzzled look, Peter goes on somewhat anxiously, “Well, what I mean is—uh. How do I put this…?” he mumbles the last bit under his breath.

After taking a moment to organize his thoughts, Peter speaks up again, focusing on a nearby tree across from them, and the way the breeze rustles the healthy green of its leaves above, “…I guess there’s always been this part of me that thought…I was in the right. Keeping my superhero identity a secret from you. Because I was only doing it to keep you safe.” His gaze lowers along with his voice, thumbs twiddling in his lap. “So…I could deflect some of the guilt I felt. Even after you found out. As if what I’d done…wasn’t so horrible a thing.”

He can feel Harry’s steady gaze on him, but Peter doesn’t dare glance in his direction until he’s finished.

“Then I come to find out…you weren’t out of the country all these months,” he breathes out like a confession. “Building this huge, dangerous mech all by yourself right here in this city where you’ve always been.” A weak, somewhat bitter laugh. “And it wasn’t until that moment that…I realized how much it could hurt to be lied to.”

Peter sees in his periphery vision Harry look away uncomfortably, so he resumes quickly.

“But that’s not a dig on you—” Peter stands from the bench, finally feeling too restless to stay seated, and he paces slightly back and forth while talking with his hands, “It’s on me. I started the whole keeping secrets thing. And I just—” he comes to a halt, standing in profile to Harry as his face sinks into his palm, “I just felt… _so_ stupid. Like I should have known all along, or—” His head comes back up, and a sigh escapes him. “Or—I don’t know. Like…like I wasn’t…”

“Like you weren’t the best friends you thought you were,” Harry finishes quietly with a forlorn sort of half-smile, speaking to the concrete ground.

Peter turns back to him, eyes widening in some surprise, and then, slowly, he echoes that lonely smile.

“…Yeah,” Peter replies gently, “…Exactly.” He takes a step towards the other, smile falling, “And the fact that I _ever_ made you feel that way…believe me, Harry, it—” absently his hand finds its way to his chest, and he clutches tight at the fabric there, “—it hurts worse than anything a supervillain has ever done to me.”

Harry doesn’t say anything in response to that, and averts his eyes even further from Peter, but his brows remain unfurrowed, which is probably a good sign.

“…So…I honestly don’t expect you to have forgiven me completely,” Peter goes on as he makes his way back to the bench. “I could talk about all the good intentions I had until I’m blue in the face, but it doesn’t make what I did any less terrible.” He settles back into his seat, palms pressing into the worn, painted wood below. “But I’m…trying to do better. I _want_ to do better,” he quickly amends, and then, with an uneasy glance to his right at Harry, “So that hopefully…you can start to really trust me again.”

Another bout of silence hangs in the air. Harry is quiet, but his facial features are composed. Pensive. Almost like he’s been chewing over a different thought in his mind while Peter has been talking for the last minute or so. It’s just when Peter is considering speaking up again, that Harry does so instead.

“…So then,” he starts off calm. But it’s an eerie sort of composure. With an obvious, ominous something lurking just underneath the surface. And when Harry turns to look at Peter, it’s with the slightest wrinkle in his brows to indicate just a touch of resentment. But at its core, his question is almost pleading, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Peter isn’t sure he understands the context of what he’s being asked, but that doesn’t stop his body from reacting as if he’s just been caught in some unforgivable act. His voice stalls, and he swallows to clear the sudden dryness in his throat, “Tell you what…?”

“About your plan to stop Toomes,” Harry clarifies without missing a beat.

“What? I…” Peter still doesn’t understand where this is going, “I did tell you—”

Harry interrupts him with a huff of a laugh that carries no mirth whatsoever, and in the next instant that smile is gone, “No,” he says firmly, shaking his head. “No you didn’t.” And then he’s standing from the bench, taking a few steps forward before he stops, and doesn’t turn around, leaving Peter with nothing to observe but the hunch of Harry’s shoulders and a back that’s never looked quite so frail to him before, “You told me…you had something that would disrupt Toomes’ mental interface with the goblin mech. And that it was dangerous. But I—” his left hand clenches into a tight fist at his side, “—I trusted you. I bought you the time you needed. And what you _didn’t_ tell me—” He spins around, and his face is a mess of anger, horror, and a tinge of hysteria that draws his voice high and nearly cracking, “—was that it would _KILL_ you!”

“I didn’t know the probability of survival until later!” Peter is quick to defend, standing up from the bench as well, but while he intended to sound firm and unwavering in his justification, against the heartbreaking expression twisting up Harry’s features, everything ends up coming out guilt-ridden and panicked. “And by then there wasn’t any time to—”

“I would have figured something out!” Harry hollers obstinately, now settled on anger as his primary emotion, “If you had just _told_ me what you were _doing_ —!”

“Harry you know as well as I do you weren’t in any condition to keep fighting—” Peter is retorting back, feeding just a little bit off the other’s frustration. 

“THEN IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN _ME_ ,” Harry abruptly screams, and it feels like a physical blow to Peter as he takes a startled step backwards, especially when Harry starts striding forward. “Why should _you_ —” he stabs an index finger into Peter’s chest, “—have to die for _my_ mistakes!?” he seethes, withdrawing his hand back to his own torso. “Why do I have to be responsible not only for my dad’s death, but my _best friend_ —?!” and his voice suddenly catches on something in his throat, cutting his sentence off at the heel. Immediately he retreats a handful of steps back as his hand flies to his face to cover his contorting features before turning completely around. 

Peter is left standing speechless and hollow, a chilling realization slowly dawning on him that he can’t believe didn’t hit him sooner.

“…H…Harry,” Peter takes a cautious step forward, as if he were approaching a wounded animal, “What happened to your dad… That was an accident—”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Harry instantly snaps, his voice only trembling slightly, “Just— …Just _don’t_.” The hand falls from his face, but his back is still facing Peter, “I don’t need you to sugarcoat it for me. I _know_ what I did. I’ve been _living with it_ for the past _year_!” His shoulders hunch further with each forceful word, and his left arm comes up to wrap protectively around his middle. “…Why do you think…” his voice goes quiet now, losing all its previous ire, so that’s there’s nothing left but defeat and self-deprecation, “…why do you think I built that stupid thing…?”

Peter blinks a few times as he feels his eyes go glossy on unformed tears, and his vocal chords feel like they’re in a vise. But Harry keeps talking.

“I just wanted—” he stutters through a cynical laugh, “I just wanted to do something _good_ to make up for it. Something to _help_ people. Something to help _you_ —help _Spider-Man_ —” He finally turns around, with a wide, sweeping gesture of his hand, as if to motion to the entirety of the city, “And look what happened?” His smile in no way holds any humor, and he doesn’t meet Peter’s gaze for long, looking away as he runs an agitated hand through his hair, pulling hard towards the end as if he intends to rip the strands right out of his skull, “Half of New York City is blown to pieces, Otto Octavius is _dead_ —and it is _literally_. All my fault. From _building_ the mech to leading Toomes straight to it every step of the way. _Handing_ it to him on a _silver platter_ —”

Harry’s voice starts failing him again. His breathing is ragged from shouting, and it’s easy to see the building tears in his eyes are about ready to fall. But in that pause he seems to calm down considerably, his body turned slightly away from Peter as he focuses downward at nothing in particular.

“And I just…” Harry shakily breathes out, the hand in his hair—now trembling—moving to partly cover his mouth, “…I’m _so_ sorry…”

Peter moves without saying a word, almost without even thinking, as if he were being magnetically drawn to the other. When he gets close enough for his approach to be noticed, Harry’s head tilts back up and he looks at Peter—questioning and teary-eyed—when he comes to a stop in front of him. But even then, Peter can’t find anything to say, not really knowing what expression he himself is making, aside from how much his eyes are burning from unshed tears, and simply takes a half-step forward to encircle his arms around Harry in a careful embrace.

It’s a little tricky at first, considering the bulky cast around Harry’s right arm that creates an awkward buffer in between them, but Peter manages an angle that shouldn’t put too much pressure against it, while still maintaining the definition of a hug.

Harry unsurprisingly stiffens up like stone in Peter’s hold, but still he doesn’t speak. He waits. And he waits. Until a sob eventually breaks free from the confines of Harry’s throat, the entire span of his shoulders shuddering with the sound, and a moment later Peter feels a face hot and wet with tears bury itself into his shoulder.

It takes a little while after Harry allows himself to cry that his left arm starts to move, curling around Peter to grab a fistful of the back of his suit jacket. Harry weeps quietly but openly, and close against him like this Peter can feel every hiccupping sob, every stuffy sniff, every quiver that runs through his body as they stay like this for what seems like an eternity.

The rest of the world seems to fade away in that time frame, leaving just the two of them in it. So it feels like waking up from a dream when Harry finally settles down. Peter has to consciously release his hold around the other as Harry’s grip around him loosens and falls away, and immediately Peter feels that loss of warmth.

But he smiles anyway. Careful and soft. Even as Harry avoids making eye contact, clearly embarrassed over the spectacle he made of himself.

“…Feel better?” Peter asks gently.

That prompts an involuntary tug at the corners of Harry’s lips, and he sniffs hard, bringing his hand up to wipe away at his tear-stained cheeks, “…Yeah, actually,” he answers with a slight rasp, gaze shifting shyly to Peter’s face, “I do.”

Peter can feel his smile growing to a grin, “Good.” And then he’s slipping a hand into his inner jacket pocket. There’s a crinkle of plastic wrap as he digs around, before pulling out a travel-sized packet of tissues, tugging open the resealable tab, and offering them out to Harry.

At the sight of this, a bright laugh is startled out of him, to which Peter raises a brow in confusion.

“I remember you used to always carry one of these around when we were little kids,” Harry explains fondly, pulling one tissue out of the package to wipe away the lingering wetness at his eyes.

Now on the same page, Peter smiles somewhat smugly, “And you always used to make fun of me for it, right up until winter came along and you’d get runny noses every morning on the walk to school.”

Harry grins, unabashed, then blows his nose with his second tissue. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

They burst out laughing together at the distant memory, the light coming back to Harry’s eyes, while the knots in Peter’s stomach gradually unfurl. When Harry is done drying off his face—and Peter takes the time to dab at his own eyes—they walk together to the nearby trash can to toss the used tissues, and that’s when Peter speaks up again.

“…Hey,” he says lightly, trying not to bring the mood down again by sounding foreboding, “Let’s make a promise?” As Harry turns to look at him, confused but intrigued, Peter smiles and raises his fist up in an all-too familiar motion, “I promise no more self-sacrificing stunts, as long as you promise not to hide any more technologically unstoppable fighting machines in your basement.”

With much relief, Peter made that last bit sound ridiculous enough to coax another small laugh out of Harry, and he matches Peter’s raised fist with his own.

“Yeah,” he smiles, “I think I can manage that.”

Their fists bump against each other, and for this one small, quiet moment, at least, everything seems alright with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Time:** Iced coffee


	2. Chapter 2

It’s rare for Harry to ever be late meeting up. 

Of course, Peter sees the retrospective irony in it all, and it’s part of the reason why he’s held back in calling to see what’s up. The last text he received from Harry said he’d be here at Joe’s in ten minutes, and it was nearing twenty. And while that’s not a _particularly_ worrisome amount of time to be running late—heck, Peter’s record is an hour and eight minutes—it’s enough of a discrepancy that leaves Peter with a bouncing knee as he sits restlessly at their usual stool seats by the window, checking the time on his phone every thirty seconds with one hand while the other taps anxiously on the countertop. 

Then, finally, through the window glass he sees Harry’s familiar form fast walking by. As Harry sees Peter inside the café, he slows slightly to wave and mouth an inaudible " _sorry_ ", to which Peter waves back and smiles in understanding. 

Both their smiles quickly fade, however, as Harry barely makes it another two steps forward when a man Peter has never seen before stops Harry in his tracks and starts talking to him. Harry is forced to backpedal a little on the sidewalk as the man gets uncomfortably close, with what looks like a voice recorder in his hand, and Peter doesn’t need his Spider Sense to tell him something is very wrong. He bolts up from his seat the millisecond Harry’s facial expression turns tense and uneasy. 

The store bell rings sharp and loudly as Peter pushes open one side of the double doors with a little more force than necessary, and he turns to his right at Harry and the unknown man, where he’s now able to hear snippets of their conversation.

“…Any questions you have were answered at the press conference held yesterday,” Harry is saying with relative composure, despite the glare furrowing his brows. With that final statement he tries to step to the side to move past the man, but he immediately shifts his body in the same direction to block Harry’s escape. 

“Of course, of course,” the journalist is saying amicably, and from the reflection in the glass beside him, Peter can see the tight, too-wide smile on his face. “But that _was_ just a representative of the company, correct? I think I speak for both myself and our avid readers when I say there are plenty of those out there who’d rather hear _your_ side of the story, in your own words.”

“Harry!” Peter calls out with a show of a wave and forced cheer, as if he’d just happened to be walking down the sidewalk. He maneuvers around the older man to get to Harry’s side and set a hand over on his far shoulder and draw him in close, while still being mindful of the sling and cast. “There you are,” Peter says without paying the slightest bit of mind to the third wheel of their party. “Come on, I saved you a seat.”

And while he wasn’t expecting it to be that easy, he’s still surprised when the reporter—not looking deterred in the least—sidesteps once again to obstruct their path towards the front entrance of Joe’s. 

“And you must be a good friend of Mr. Harry Osborn’s, is that right?” the man speaks fast but cordially, making it difficult to get a word in edgewise. “Any thoughts on a young boy your age flying about the city with an arsenal of unsanctioned _bombs_ at his disposal?”

Peter resists the very tempting urge to crush the recorder that’s shoved in his face with his bare hand, and instead pushes it aside with the back of his palm as he answers evenly, “No comment.”

“You know,” the man says with that same plastered smile on his face, taking steps backwards as Peter strides forward, escorting Harry along. Seeing as he was firmly shutdown by Peter, he returns his attention back to Harry as well as the voice recorder to his mouth, “Other news outlets might take it easy on you just because you’re a high school student, but you’re quite the accomplished genius! Building all sorts of _fascinating_ things—” 

“ _Move_ ,” Peter seethes as the reporter’s back hits the door to Joe’s, and while the older man has a solid couple of inches on him, that doesn’t stop Peter from presenting himself as overbearing as possible. 

“Oh!” the reporter says with a raise of his hands to shoulder level in a fine display of faux surprise. “I’m in your way, aren’t I? Sorry about that.” He laughs like they’re a couple of old friends and takes a shallow step to the side, where he’s still blocking the left side of the double doors, but leaving the right free for the opening. “Please, enjoy your coffee, gentlemen.”

While glaring daggers at the reporter, as if daring him to make another move, Peter presses a palm to the left edge of the right-side door, his outstretched arm acting as a buffer as he pulls the door open with his other hand and guides Harry inside ahead of him with a gentle push at his back. 

Meanwhile, the journalist pretends to fiddle with his voice recorder, but speaks up—loudly—just before Peter follows in after Harry. 

“Must be nice to take it easy while the whole of the city is suffering from your irresponsible actions.”

Peter’s body moves instinctively, without any thought put into it, and not even a rough grab of the front of the reporter’s clothes to slam him back up against the glass door is enough to wipe the smug sneer off his face. 

“ _Pete_!” Harry is darting back and grabbing at Peter’s arm with the only hand available to him. “ _Don’t_ — It’s not worth it…!”

There isn’t even anything Peter intended to say. He has no comeback, no argument. He just wanted to see the man grimace, whether in fear or pain or both. But the reporter is steadfast, as if this was all simply going according to plan, and his smirk just makes Peter want to toss him over his shoulder into oncoming traffic. 

“ _Peter_!” Harry is sounding legitimately angry now, with a sharp tug to his arm that does nothing against his superpowered strength, and with that Peter lets his white-knuckle grip of the man go. 

The reporter, in response, chuckles as he flattens out the wrinkles in his front, “Testy, aren’t we?” He smooths out the hair at the back of his head. “It’s not my fault you need to pick better friends, kid.”

Harry squeezes his grip still at Peter’s arm, but while Peter can feel the entirety of his skin prickle with newfound rage, he doesn’t rise to the bait. He just lets Harry pull him away, through the front entrance to Joe’s and away from the journalist who watches the two of them through the glass for a handful of seconds, until he notices Joe himself frowning at him, standing menacingly inside with a broom in his hand as if he intends to shoo the man away like a mangy cat. Peter notices the reporter’s eyes dart back to them for a second, letting the smiling mask drop into a dirty scowl, and then turns to walk away down the street. 

Harry finally let’s Peter go as he takes a seat at his usual chair at the window, heaving a tired sigh now that all of the anger has drained out of him. 

But for Peter the irritation still lingers, and the first thing he does when he returns to his seat is turn to Harry and ask, “Has that guy bothered you before?”

Harry glances over at Peter only to look away reluctantly, “…Well…yeah. A few times in the last couple of days,” he admits, rubbing at the back of his neck. “But I’d always have my bodyguards with me. It was smart of him to come at me when I was alone to meet up with you.” 

Peter makes a face as he leans his arms into the countertop, “I think the word you’re looking for there is ‘underhanded,’ Harry.” 

That pulls a weak laugh out of him, “I know, I know. But come on.” He shrugs his shoulders helplessly, tone losing its faint humor. “I’m sure he thinks he’s doing the right thing.” His gaze moves from a random spot outside the window to the tabletop in front of him, and he idly flicks at a stray crumb. “Trying to expose a corrupt CEO making superweapons in his free time…”

“Which isn’t _true_ ,” Peter responds quick and sharp.

“It was just a joke,” Harry amends conveniently, and he’d sound a lot more convincing if he looked Peter in the eye when he said it. “…Look, I appreciate the save, but…” he glances sideways at the other with a faintly amused smile, “Let’s maybe dial it back a bit?” he says while making a knob turning motion with his hand. “You’d give Aunt May a heart attack if she found out you were arrested for assault.”

As much as Harry sounds like he’s just giving him a hard time for the fun of it, Peter feels his cheeks warming at the shame of his actions just a minute ago, effectively emptying him of any lingering resentment, “I-I didn’t mean to grab him like that. Honest.” He looks away in embarrassment. “…But he had no right to badger you like that…” he mumbles defiantly under his breath.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Harry smile soft and appreciative, but it’s at that moment that Peter really gets a good look at him, now that all the commotion has died down and they’re sitting side by side. 

Harry looks completely spent. This close Peter can see the slightest of bags under his eyes, and he could swear there’s not as much color to Harry’s face as there usually is. There’s a noticeable weariness to the lift of the corners of his lips, and all at once a heavy weight drops down to the pit of Peter’s stomach. 

“Hey,” Peter says, knowing that there’s no suppressing the concern on his face when he asks, “Have you been getting enough sleep?”

That draws Harry’s attention back, and he looks surprised for a brief moment, before that tired smile returns. 

“…It’s just been busy over at Oscorp lately,” Harry replies lightly after a pause, as if that’s supposed to explain everything. “There’s only so much I can leave to the company’s board of directors to handle,” he goes on as his gaze slides away from Peter’s face and back to an inconsequential spot on the counter, his left hand fidgeting with a loose thread from his sling, “Especially with…” and for a handful of seconds the forced casualness fades, no doubt as Harry tries to encompass the complications from this past week and a half of the Goblin Mech clearly being seen bursting out of the Oscorp building, countless witnesses to the current head of the company fighting against it, and the battle armor being worn by said head bearing a striking resemblance to the ones used by the multiple gangs of vigilantes that set a quarter of the city on fire—in only a few words. 

In the end, Peter doesn’t let him struggle through that, “I-I know. But…Harry,” he turns slightly in his stool seat towards the other, and reaches out to place a hand on Harry’s shoulder, “You’ve gotta take care of yourself too, you know.” When Harry doesn’t look particularly agreeable about that statement, Peter adds as he withdraws his hand back, “Look, maybe we should take a rain check for today, and you could get some rest—”

“No!” Harry responds immediately, head whipping around to Peter, looking almost horrified by the mere suggestion. “I-I mean…no,” he tries again with a quieter, less frantic tone. “Sorry. I just…” he turns away again, running a restless hand through his hair, “I was just looking forward to doing something…normal, you know?” His left arm moves to rest on the table, and he glances over at Peter as a weary but warm smile softens his features, “…I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to. And how being back at Horizon’s been treating you.”

There’s that flutter in Peter’s chest again, and he has to look away and pretend there’s an itch at his nose to hide his mouth while he gets his too-wide smile under control. But once he does, he turns his focus back to Harry when he replies, “Alright, fair enough. I’ll go grab our drinks first though, okay?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Harry answers gratefully, and as Peter starts getting up from the chair, he pulls out some cash to hand over, “Can you get me an iced coffee?”

“Sure thing,” Peter smiles back. 

Joe is working the register when Peter gets up to the front counter. He orders Harry’s iced coffee and the usual smoothie for himself, and it’s while he’s being handed back his change that Joe speaks up, leaning in ever so slightly as his voice goes low, clearly not about to recite the usual customer service spiel.

“Hey,” Joe says, shifting his line of sight to the outside of the shop for an instant before focusing back on Peter’s face, “If I see that reporter guy or anyone else like him around here, I’ll chase ‘em off, alright?”

Peter blinks, surprise momentarily leaving him speechless. But then he smiles, taking the bills and coins offered to him with more care than usual as he replies, “…Thanks, Joe.” 

Joe scoffs a little, but it’s with a good-humored smile, straightening up again as he goes on in his normal gruff tone, “You shouldn’t have to worry about lowlifes like that. Going after a couple of good kids…” he shakes his head to himself, as if to say “what’s the world coming to these days?” before turning to grab Peter’s order and handing him the two drinks. 

Peter throws him one last grateful look, and drops a generous tip into the glass jar at his left before he takes the two plastic cups and turns around to return to his seat.

Unfortunately, as his eyes land back on Harry, his heart sinks on an apprehensive feeling. Harry is hunched over the table on the phone with someone, and not looking happy. It’s only when Peter gets close enough to put the drinks down that he can hear Harry talking low and exasperated under his breath. 

“—Yes. Yes I _know_ how important it is—” he’s saying with a glare, and surely if his right arm was functional he’d be using his other hand not holding the phone up to his ear to rub at his temples, “But why can’t I just—” apparently Harry is cut off by whoever is on the other end of the line, and as he listens to the muffled babble the furrow in his brows only deepens. 

Peter sits back down in his chair quietly, placing Harry’s drink near him, while Peter suddenly doesn’t have the appetite to sip at his own. 

After what seems like a long tangent Harry was forced to listen to, he heaves a frustrated sigh.

“… _Fine_ ,” he practically spits into the receiver, “Fine. Whatever. I’ll be there.” And with that terse response, Harry hangs up the call. 

Immediately Harry sighs heavily again, the hand clutching his phone dropping down onto the tabletop like a lead weight. When he turns his head towards Peter they both know he doesn’t have to explain anything, so Harry gets right to the agonizing apology.

“Pete I am _so_ sorry—” 

“It’s okay!” Peter says quickly, smiling strained but sympathetically. “Really. Of course I get it. You don’t have to apologize.” 

Harry lets his phone drop flat onto the table to rub at the bridge of his nose, “…I know I don’t _have_ to…” he mutters jadedly, and then his hand is reaching out for his iced coffee to bring it closer so he can fiddle with the plastic straw. “But it already took us a week to set this up…”

“I know,” Peter says gently, leaning his arms into the counter, “But we’ll make time again.”

Harry huffs a lackluster chuckle, “You say that like it’s so easy…”

“Then—” Peter reaches for something—anything that might spark a real smile on Harry’s features, “Consider it the start of payback for all the times I ditched you last year.”

Harry’s next soft laugh is much less dreary, maybe even genuinely charmed—if Peter were to give himself that much credit, “Yeah, well… Your excuses were a lot nobler than mine.”

“How about I call you tonight?” Peter tries again, steering the conversation away from that dead-end of a subject. “We’ll talk for as long as you want. Even when I think you should be doing the responsible, logical thing and going to sleep.”

Now _that_ smile is better. Much better. Bright with amusement and affection in equal parts. “…Yeah. Okay.” He grins, “Sounds like a plan.”

They fist bump, and then Harry is getting up from his chair, grabbing his phone to tuck away into his pants pocket before picking up his drink to take along with him. Peter wishes him good luck and watches him go with a wave for as long as physically possible. It’s only when Harry’s form has disappeared from Peter’s sphere of sight that he allows the worry and disappointment to return to his features, and for the rest of the day he avoids looking at any news feeds plastering the latest gossip on the Oscorp scandal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next time:** Making plans


	3. Chapter 3

Another two weeks goes by, and in that window of time Peter is able to sit down with Harry in the same space to hang out substantially for a total of one and a half times.

The half is due to yet another scenario where Harry was called away as they were settling down at Joe’s for lunch one afternoon. But overall, it’s a mix of both of their conflicting schedules, not just Harry’s. There’s always something for Spider-Man to do, not to mention classes at Horizon and the labor-heavy school projects that come with them. Between the two of them, it feels as though there’s just not enough time in each and every day. 

However, it’s obviously taking its toll on Harry the most. While heat from the press and news outlets on the Goblin Mech attack have died down considerably in the eyes of the general public—as most sensational stories do with the passage of time—what was once making headlines is still mentioned here and there in deeper pages of newspapers and internet feeds. And behind closed doors investigations and cover-ups are still going on. Peter isn’t really sure how involved Harry actually is in everything, and doesn’t care to ask or think about it too hard. Harry doesn’t need that extra stress, and at this point that’s all Peter really cares about, until one night he decides that enough is enough. 

“Harry,” Peter begins firmly, leaning back against the wall his bed is pressed up against, “You need a break.”

There’s a beat of silence from the other end of the phone line (they stopped doing Face Time a while back, when it was clear Peter wouldn’t be able to ignore how tired Harry constantly looked), but then Harry laughs lightly, “Yeah, and what else is new?”

“I’m being serious, Harry,” Peter replies as he adjusts his seating position to sit cross-legged atop his bed covers, “What I mean is—you need a break and we need to seriously plan it.”

“‘We’?” Harry echoes, and Peter can hear the amused smile in his voice.

“Yeah. We.” Peter doubles down, thankful the rush of warmth to his cheeks can go unseen. “Let’s do something together. Take a weekend off and have a sleepover or something. Like we used to.”

Harry is laughing again, and Peter doesn’t think it sounds _that_ ridiculous. Aside from the word sleepover, anyway. But it’s not his fault the English language is poorly lacking in alternatives to something more young adult-sounding. 

“And what about your spidey patrols?” Harry asks, sounding a little more serious now. 

“Hey, we have a whole team of spiders now to watch over the city,” Peter answers confidently. “I’ll call in a favor and be good to go.”

“Mm-hm…” Harry makes a vague, noncommittal noise at the back of his throat.

“Come _on_ ,” Peter presses, feeling a lot like a telemarketer trying to secure a sale, “there’s _got_ to be a weekend when you don’t have to be at the office.”

“Mm…” Harry gives another ambiguous response, but then there’s a shuffle of something in the background, maybe Harry opening a drawer or moving something aside on his desk, “Alright fine, lemme check.”

Peter waits patiently, and it sounds like Harry puts down the phone and sets it on speaker while he grabs something—probably a tablet where he can flick through his schedule for the next month. While Peter waits he gets more comfortable on his bed. It’s nearing midnight, so he’s already dressed for sleep and ready to call it a night as soon as he’s done talking with Harry over the phone. 

“…Well,” Harry’s voice finally filters through Peter’s ear again, “I guess there’s the weekend I’m going in to see my doctor to check out the x-rays on my arm. That’s at the end of the month. And if everything looks good I might be able to get the cast off early.”

“That’s perfect!” Peter is exclaiming before he can reel in his own eagerness, springing back up to a sitting position right after he had just laid his head down onto his pillow. 

“You’re getting a little too into this,” Harry is saying with a chuckle. 

“So what if I am?” Peter beams as he settles back down into his mattress, and if there’s one benefit to simply conversing over the phone, it’s that he doesn’t have to worry about suppressing the abundancy of delight from his features. He hasn’t felt this excited about something in _ages_. “We’ll really go all out. I’ll bring the movies, you provide the video games, and we’ll live off of soda and pizza rolls for two and a half days.” 

That prompts another fit of genuine laughter from Harry, which sounds promising. Peter waits with bated breath, lying flat on his stomach now as he rests his chin on his pillow while hugging it close with one arm. Once Harry’s mirth has died down there’s a length of silence, dragging on long enough that Peter is about seventy-percent sure Harry is only doing it to cruelly tease him, and then—

“…Alright,” comes a word of affirmation Peter was hoping—praying for. “Let’s do it.”

Peter mouths a triumphant “ _yes_ ” to himself with a pump of his fist, but what he says out loud to Harry is, “Awesome,” with much more restrained enthusiasm. “So I’ll show up at your place on Friday after school?” He moves to turn his body around to lie flat on his back, dragging his pillow with him to cuddle. “You’re still staying at that high-rise apartment while they’re doing repairs on the Oscorp building, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Text me when you’re out front and I’ll buzz you in.”

“Sounds good,” Peter smiles into the phone, wishing it was the end of the month already. “…Now get some sleep.”

Harry huffs a chuckle, and Peter can just see him rolling his eyes, “Yeah yeah, okay Aunt May.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” Peter says, his own voice edging on laughter. 

“…‘Night, Pete,” Harry replies with what sounds like a soft smile. 

The call ends, and for a while after Peter removes the phone from against his ear and sets it aside, he just lies atop his bed, his cheeks starting to feel sore from smiling too much. He then turns to his side while both his arms come around to hug Señor Trunks sitting close by, and buries his grinning face into the elephant’s puffy chest.

But once that fit of excess elation passes, Peter is quickly unfurling his arms to reach out for his phone again, and immediately dials Miles’ number.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Time:** Everything's okay


	4. Chapter 4

“—and look, you can still call me—” Peter is saying into the receiver, adjusting the strap of his duffel bag over his shoulder as he picks up his walking speed to make the crosswalk before the light turns red, “—if it’s life-threatening. _Definitely_ if it’s something life-threatening, and you really need me. But uh—” he slows back to normal as he makes it to the other side of the street, “ _please_ don’t need me.”

“Dude,” Miles deadpans on the other end of the line, “You worry _way_ too much. Everything’s going to be _fine_. We’ve got this.”

Peter heaves a sigh, “I know, I know. It’s just…” he sidesteps a trio of friends going a frustratingly slow pace down the sidewalk, “I’m not exactly used to things working out for me, you know?”

“ _What_ do you think is going to happen?” Miles replies with clear amusement in his tone. “That _this_ weekend of all weekends is when a giant portal is going to open up over New York City so an army of world-conquering aliens can come raining down to destroy us all?”

“Oh my god do not _say_ that you’re going to jinx it!” Peter hisses into his phone.

“…You really _do_ need this weekend off,” Miles says with mild bewilderment. “Look, just worry about having fun,” he goes on amicably, “and make sure Harry does too.”

The thought of only being just a couple of blocks away from seeing Harry’s face pulls a warm, uncontrollable smile across Peter’s features, “Yeah, well… I’m going to try.”

“You really are a good friend, Peter,” Miles says with abrupt earnestness, and then adds more humorously as if to distract from that, “Don’t go too crazy now, y’hear?”

“I won’t,” Peter plays along with a chuckle. “Thanks again, Miles. This really does mean a lot to me. And pass my thanks along to the girls, too.”

“Will do, man. Talk to you later!”

Peter hangs up the call with a lingering smile, then stuffs his phone into his back pocket so he can focus on the path in front of him and quicken his stride. Soon enough he sees the tall, towering structures that make up the upscale apartment complex, and that giddy feeling bubbles up in his chest once more. He comes in through the front where there’s a large open gate for cars and such to drive in through during the day, but further in comes across another, closed one that requires a number code, right next to a smaller version for pedestrians that opens with what looks like a keycard scan, and so Peter pulls out his phone again to send a quick text to Harry that he’s arrived. 

While he waits, Peter flicks through his email and messages, double-checking he’s taken care of any time-sensitive replies he needs to deal with before going radio silent for the weekend. He’s just pressed ‘Send’ on a text to Aunt May informing her he got here safe and sound when he hears “Pete!” coming from a distance. 

Peter looks up, and there’s Harry walking quick down the paved pathway towards him, waving a noticeably cast-less right arm, to which Peter can’t help mirroring the other’s beaming grin in excitement. But he waits until Harry is able to unlock the gate, and there’s no longer anything between them for Peter to raise his own right hand for Harry to clasp in his as they pull each other in for a casual hug.

“Back in action, huh?” Peter says as they pull apart. 

“You know it,” Harry replies with a chuckle, making a show of rolling his right arm and shoulder. “Now there’s nothing stopping me from kicking your butt in Smash Sibs.”

“We’ll see about that,” Peter shoots back with a lighthearted shove and they both start laughing as they begin to walk together down the way Harry came, Peter just a step behind him.

Harry leads them towards a flight of stairs where they go up just one floor, and then it’s a short walk down a hallway past several numbered doors until they reach the last one at the very end. Harry opens the door with a fancy key nub he presses against a round sensor, and once the small light over the handle turns green he’s able to turn it downward and push the door open. 

Inside is about as posh and stylish as Peter expected, but not obnoxiously so. Harry’s always been one for minimalism and orderliness, even when it comes to living alone and unsupervised, evidently. The furniture and appliances are all of a simple white or black, with an occasional splash of color in muted blue to liven the place up. Everything looks clean and pristine with disuse, save for the plush L-shaped couch in front of the wide-screen TV hooked up into the wall, and the modest pile of dirty dishes left to soak in the kitchen sink.

“You can set your stuff down anywhere,” Harry is saying to him lightly as he steps into the apartment, slipping off his shoes by the front door, before coming in further to toss his keys onto the kitchen island counter. “I’m just going to change out of these clothes real quick.”

“Sure,” Peter replies to Harry’s retreating back as he disappears around a corner, leaving Peter to himself to unpack what he wants at his leisure.

The living area itself is pretty compact, with the kitchen only big enough for the essentials so that it fits neatly off to the side. The space is largely open-concept, so one can take in pretty much everything—the kitchen, dining area, living room, etc.—as soon as they step in through the front door, save for the bedroom and bathroom that would have to be at the opposite end and down the hall Harry ducked into. For the moment Peter drops his bag down by the couch so he can pull out the DVDs he brought and stack the small pile of them on the coffee table. He also digs out a few bags of cheap snacks he bought at the convenience store on the way over, and lastly the tupperware container filled to the brim with the cookies Aunt May baked for the both of them to enjoy over the weekend. _If_ they last till Saturday.

When Harry returns, he’s traded in the semi-formal attire for a simple T-shirt and sweat pants. As his eyes land on the goodies spread out over the table, his smile grows to a pleased grin, and then he’s making his way over to the fridge as he asks over his shoulder, “Thirsty for anything?”

Peter is already plopped onto the couch, having kicked off his shoes and taken the liberty of grabbing the wireless video game controllers they’ll need from a cabinet of the credenza set below the TV. He turns and hangs an arm over the back of the sofa as he answers, “Soda’s fine.” 

Harry pulls open the door of the sleek fridge and takes out two of the same cans, and it’s as he’s shutting it closed again and coming around the island counter back to the couch that his cell phone rings from his pants pocket. Peter hates how the sound instinctively ties his stomach into a knot, hoping his face isn’t giving away the dread freezing up his muscles, but then he watches as Harry doesn’t even flinch from the noise as he digs out his phone, swipes right to hang up the call without even looking at who it might be, then backtracks to pull open a random drawer in the kitchen in order to carelessly drop the device in before loudly slamming it closed.

Peter has to turn away before Harry can see the too-wide smile breaking out across his lips, but as Harry comes into view again in front of the couch Peter looks back up and teases, “You know putting it on silent would have sufficed.”

Harry smiles back, edging on a smirk, and answers as he tosses Peter his soda, “Maybe I wanted to be dramatic about it.”

That pulls a short laugh out of Peter as he catches the chilled aluminum can one-handed, and then Harry is coming around the coffee table to sit down next to him. There’s a metallic clink and a small hiss as Harry opens his can of soda, and he pulls his legs in to sit cross-legged on the sofa cushion before he speaks again, talking more to his drink than to Peter.

“I sent out a mass e-mail to everyone at the office to tell them I can’t be reached until Monday morning, no matter what.”

Peter’s smile softens, and his gaze shifts away from Harry’s face and down to his own soda can as he pops it open, “…You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Harry says promptly, and when Peter next glances over at him he’s smiling absently, idly picking at the metal tab of his drink. “But I wanted to.” There’s a pause, and then he lifts his chin up and looks over at Peter as he adds, “As far as I’m concerned…this is more important.”

Peter can feel his face getting warm, and he turns away as he brings a hand up to scratch at the side of his head so his arm can hide his profile while he laughs light and bashful.

“Well…” Peter awkwardly clears his throat, “I’ve really been looking forward to this too.” He hopes by now his cheeks are at least some semblance of a normal temperature as he turns to look at Harry again, smiling growing as he raises his can of soda up and towards the other, “Here’s to the start of an awesome weekend.”

Harry grins in response, and mimics the movement of Peter’s raised can as they clink the two of them together. 

They start off with a long session of fighting matches. Going through all the different types of gameplay. Versus, team battles, challenge mode, until they’ve exhausted just about every way to play, shuffling through their own personal rosters of characters twice over. Their win/loss ratio is neck-and-neck for most of the time, until they finally decide on one last tie-breaker round. One-on-one, no items, on a neutral stage with no gimmicks, and it’s Harry who comes out on top at the last second, the two of them down to one life each with both of them in the red on damage taken. Peter was sure his victory was secured when he knocked Harry off the stage for the eighth time, but as it turned out he was still just able to recover enough in the air to whip himself back to the edge. And before Peter could knock him back down, Harry had done an impressive dodge before shooting him point-blank with his charged up special he had been ominously saving for the last five minutes. It was all so impressive Peter could do nothing but laugh and commend Harry on a good game as similar words of congratulations for Player 1 scrolled by on the TV screen.

The salty snacks that had been amassed atop the coffee table are entirely gone by now, leaving only the tiniest of crumbs in the wake of two adolescent boys’ appetites. There’s still a sizeable amount of cookies left in the plastic container, but they easily skimmed off the top layer within the first few hours of gaming. The rest will most likely be taken care of late into the night with the mini-marathon of movies they plan to fall asleep to. 

But for the moment, they take a ten minute intermission of sorts for bathroom breaks, to clean up the emptied bags of food, refill drinks, and switch out one game cartridge for another, before settling back down into the couch and grabbing their controllers. 

“And then he says—” Peter is recounting while trying not to chortle and interrupt his own speech, “—that he made it to slice _hamburgers_.”

Thankfully for Harry, he had only just begun taking a swig of his newly opened can of soda, so he only sputters back a sip before he erupts into a fit of laughter.

“Oh my god—” Harry says once he calms down enough, though he’s still fighting off chuckles as he continues, setting his soda aside while he’s in no condition to be drinking from it, “You’re kidding me…!”

“Well, needless to say,” Peter goes on with a snicker, “it didn’t take long for it to end up in the Graveyard after all that.”

“Miles did always have the most…unique ideas,” Harry says with a smile edging on one last good-natured chuckle, absently picking up his controller again. “But that’s what makes him a good fit for Horizon.”

“Hey,” Peter then notices on the television screen what Harry is fiddling with in settings, “you don’t want to be player one anymore?”

“What, and be a weak, fleshy human man when I can be an invulnerable goo creature of science instead?” Harry smirks without looking away from the screen as he finalizes the change and backs out of the menu to start up the new game. “Yeah, sure,” he finishes with a roll of his eyes.

“Fine by me,” Peter grins as he picks back up his own controller. “More story-driven gameplay for me then.”

They make the switch from a competitive mindset to the cooperativeness of the new co-op game they’ve loaded up with utmost ease. Though it takes about a half hour into story mode to unlock the feature, once Harry jumps in to take a more active role they begin breezing through every puzzle and tricky boss thrown at them. 

“…Oh this is such a trap.” Harry deadpans as they come into the dungeon section of the medieval stage they’re currently traversing, after clearing five different floors of the hotel environment the game is set in. They come into a narrow room with cell bars lining one side of it, and at the far end next to a locked door is a pully contraption they’ve become very familiar with during this floor in particular. Clearly one of them is meant to pull the ball and chain that lowers the jail cell door into the ground, and hold it there, allowing the other person to enter and grab the suspiciously unguarded golden key from inside. 

“Definitely,” Peter agrees, noting the pool of water surrounding the key, the only weakness of Harry’s character, which forces Peter to be the one to enter the cell chamber, “But I’m betting we’re supposed to fall for it anyway.”

“Well, after you, Fearless Leader,” Harry smiles too-sweetly as he reels down the virtual cell door and offers a conceding gesture with his free hand.

That pulls a lop-sided smile from Peter and a roll of the eyes, before he focuses back on the television screen and moves his avatar forward to step inside the dungeon chamber and grab the key. Of course, the moment he does, a ghost enemy decides to phase in through the wall holding a bucket of water, and promptly dumps it over Harry, instantly melting him down into a puddle. With no one pulling the ball and chain, the cage door rises up to slam into the ceiling, trapping Peter inside. 

“Aw man,” Peter off-handedly comments with mild annoyance. That is, until it suddenly becomes apparent what the purpose is for the numerous round indents embedded into the left and right walls as sharp metal spikes abruptly jut out, before the walls start to slowly close in, causing Peter’s eyes go wide. “Oh _crap_ —”

“I got it, I got it—!” Harry hurriedly re-solidifies himself, but in that short amount of time the single ghost has multiplied into four, all each carrying their own lethal bucket of water as they stand—or float, rather—between him and the pulley for the cell door. While Harry dodges splashes of liquid and sucks up enemies into his vacuum to clear the way, the spiked walls continue closing in on Peter notch by suspenseful notch. 

“Help me, Harry Osborn…!” Peter swoons melodramatically as he leans back into Harry’s shoulder, “You’re my only hope…!”

“Oh my god _stop_!” Harry is laughing through the frustration as Peter drapes his body weight over him to throw him off-balance in the game. “I’m _trying_! Do you _want_ to become swiss cheese?” He elbows Peter in the side where he knows his ticklish weak point to get him to back off, and then Harry is defeating the last of the ghosts, leaving the path clear for the arduous process of steadily pulling open the heavy iron cell door again. “ _Go_ , dummy!”

Still snickering to himself, Peter straightens back up in his seat and quickly moves his avatar to run out of the chamber just a second before the spiked walls stab into each other within the empty sliver of space left behind. 

“Well that wasn’t so bad,” Peter grins impishly with a nudge of his elbow into Harry’s arm.

Clearly suppressing a smile of his own, Harry pushes him back with a little more force, but in no way enough to hurt, “Just unlock the door already.”

They proceed into the next room and continue on with the level, until they at last make it to the final boss of the floor. For the first time they actually come up against a bit of a challenge, with the path to victory involving some precise timing and patience in order to inflict any damage against the enemy. It takes a while, but with their effortless teamwork they eventually deliver the final blow, earning them yet another elevator button that will unlock the way to the next section of the game.

By now, however, they’ve been glued to the video game console for the past five hours or so, and it’s the embarrassingly loud growling of Peter’s stomach that brings to mind the idea of a pause for dinner consumption and a shift to movies while they eat. Peter suggests the ease of ordering a pizza delivery, which takes no convincing on Harry’s part. 

Once Peter is done with the call, and they have about twenty minutes of a wait until everything gets there, they busy themselves with cleaning up the sofa area again, using the bathroom, getting plates and napkins ready for when the food arrives, and going through the stack of DVDs to pick out the order of showings. 

“…Weird how you only seemed to bring _my_ favorite movies with you.” Harry remarks with a wry smile and a suspicious glance at Peter knelt down next to him in front of the coffee table. 

“Huh,” Peter gives a noncommittal response, focusing on the covers of the three DVD boxes he has splayed out in his hands like cards. “Weird.” But he’s also fighting off a smile and the urge to meet Harry’s eyes. 

From his peripheral vision, Peter sees Harry’s expression soften before he looks away to return his attention back to the movies. 

“Well…” Harry starts after a handful of seconds of contemplative silence, a pleased, too-wide smile now plastered on his face, “…if you’re not going to complain about the amount of unnecessary explosions…” He sets his fingertips down on two DVD covers out of the scattered pile and slides them over where Peter can more easily see them, “Let’s start off with this one and its sequel.” 

Chuckling, Peter picks them both up and promptly transfers them to a stack off by themselves, “Sounds good to me.” 

They continue picking through films and categorizing them into piles to last them throughout the weekend, chatting to themselves all the while as they laugh and rib each other, until they’ve finished planning out their entire movie schedule for the next two nights. 

The pizza arrives soon after, and once they’ve divvied up the slices of the large pie between them and gotten new drinks, they load up the DVD, settle themselves into the same imprints in the couch cushions as before, dim the lights in the room, and then hit Play.

It’s not that Harry has bad taste in movies, and in fact Peter quite enjoys the current film franchise they’ve sat down to—though he is more partial to its sequel. Their preferences just tend to gravitate toward different things. Peter with his sci-fi stories or any motion picture where the scientists aren’t depicted as evil or immediately killed off for shock value when all they did was accurately predict a negative consequence to a group’s irresponsible actions. And then there’s Harry with his action/adventure with impressive stunts and snarky humor that never win any awards or nominations, but you’re guaranteed to have a good time watching them. The genres they tend to agree on wholeheartedly are thriller mysteries and buddy-cop movies. With horror strictly being a Harry-only interest.

They make quick work of the entire pizza within the first half hour or so of the movie, and afterwards Peter opens back up the tupperware of cookies for them to snack on as dessert. The film goes on and they watch in relative quiet, with some chitchat here and there or laughter when appropriate. The movie is actually much better than Peter remembered it.

As the credits start to roll, Peter stretches out his arms, legs and spine, while next to him Harry yawns wide and not quietly and impossible to hide even behind a hand.

“You good?” Peter asks casually, having not acknowledged until now the fatigue in Harry’s features he’s noticed since they stopped their first video game session. “I wouldn’t mind calling it a night if you want.” 

“Nice try,” Harry says as he leans over to bring the ceiling lights back on by remote, before he starts to get up from the sofa and collect their dirty plates. “But we both know the one thing people don’t do at a sleepover is sleep.” He maneuvers himself around the coffee table and the protruding vertical side of the L-shaped couch. “I’ve just got a head start on you, is all.” Throwing Peter a playful smile from the kitchen, he adds, “Maybe you oughta get on my level.”

That startles a short laugh out of Peter as he stretches out on the sofa, draping himself over the one arm so he can watch Harry at the smaller sink imbedded into the island counter while he washes off the dishes. “Well, call me a quitter all you want, but after this next movie I’m passing out.”

“Fair enough,” Harry chuckles to himself as he sets the plates on a small rack to dry, and then reaches out for a dishtowel to wipe his hands with. “Let me grab you a pillow and blankets before I forget.”

So Harry does, disappearing off around the corner into the hallway again, while Peter helps move things along by switching out the finished DVD in the player for the new one he pops out of its thin box. Harry returns only a minute later with a stack of three folded blankets topped with a fluffy-looking pillow, and plops the pile down at the far side of the couch. As Peter settles back in his seat again to align himself with the television screen, Harry dims the lights once more, returns to his spot next to him, and then presses Play for the flick to start.

It’s no surprise the both of them are quieter this time around, with much less commentary so late into the night, and their stomachs full of food. If this were anything other than an action-packed thriller, Peter would be dozing off to sleep right about now. But the explosions and gunfire make that impossible, even if the plot is fairly interesting on its own. 

And then, it happens.

There’s about twenty minutes left of the film, arguably where the tension starts to climb to reach its highest peak for the exciting, climatic conclusion. So Peter is focused on the TV screen more than anything. The colors of the current scene are bright and eye-catching, the background noise busy and loud while the dialogue is dramatic and imperative to hear and comprehend. That’s when Peter is pulled away from this fictional world as he feels a sudden weight land on his shoulder.

Peter feels his entire body freeze up. He’s still staring at the television, his eyes—now wide and unblinking—are fixated more than ever on the moving pictures and yet not processing any of it. His heartbeat is thumping too loud for him to hear anything coming out of the speakers. Just a few minutes ago he was actually thinking how cold it was in the room, and that he might unfurl one of the blankets from the pile to lie across his lap to last until the end of the movie. But he’s suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm, and he swallows absently, making him realize how dry his throat abruptly is. 

It feels like he’d be breaking some sort of spell by looking, but he can’t pretend—or keep his spine perfectly straight—forever. So, carefully, ever so slowly, he moves his head only the absolute minimal amount in order to glance over and down at Harry who…is fast asleep, causing him to have slumped over for the side of his head to rest against Peter’s shoulder. 

Peter lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding until now. Harry had just fallen asleep. Of course. Of course he did. 

The realization should be making the flush to Peter’s face die down, and yet he can feel his cheeks going hotter than ever at the ridiculous thoughts that had been racing through his mind at mach-speed just a second ago. But at least he can relax a little, just not enough for his shoulders to sag too much.

He tells himself the movie’s almost over anyway, so there’s no point in waking Harry up now. That he obviously needs the sleep. And yet when the credits finally start to roll, Peter doesn’t recall a single instance of how it all ends, despite the fact that he’s seen this movie before. 

With no longer any excuse to keep him from staying where he is, Peter leans himself just enough for the stretch of his arm to reach the remote for the DVD player, and presses the Eject button, bringing up a simple black backdrop with the slowly ricocheting logo of the player moving around the screen. Peter uses the glow of the wide television to help him maneuver around in the dark without the need to turn on any other lights.

Turning his attention back to Harry—who must have somehow slept soundly through the worst of the booming detonations in the film’s finale—Peter delicately shifts himself for the side of Harry’s face to naturally slide into his chest, giving Peter the space to wrap an arm behind Harry’s back and shoulders to support him, while the other hooks underneath Harry’s knees, and then Peter is effortlessly lifting him up in a familiar fashion, and yet Peter can’t seem to slow the rapid beating of his heart. 

It occurs to Peter only when he starts walking that he doesn’t exactly know where Harry’s bedroom is located in this new apartment. The hallway is much darker than he expects, but with the dim backlight of the TV he can at least make out three different doors. One on the left, the other on the right, and the last down at the very end of the corridor. But if he were to venture a guess, the farthest door would be the one he’s looking for, so he pads carefully down the hall, and once he comes up to the doorknob he reaches for it while being mindful of Harry in his arms, and twists it open. 

Peter was right, as it turns out. Though it’s still dark inside the new room, the curtains are drawn open at the sliding glass door to the balcony so moonlight spills in, allowing Peter to beeline for the bed without blindly stumbling into anything.

Harry hardly stirs as Peter gingerly sets him down onto the mattress. It’s only when Peter pulls the covers up over him does Harry subconsciously roll onto his side into the sleeping position he’s accustomed to. Peter can’t help the delicate smile that pulls at his lips. Without really thinking about it, his fingers move from the edges of the blankets to a tuff of pitch black hair out of place at Harry’s forehead, but he stops just before contact, his mind catching up with his body, and swiftly withdraws his hand as he straightens back up.

Without further delay, Peter whips around and makes his way back to the door. There, he spots something sitting atop the dresser off to the side that makes him halt his quickened stride. 

He recognizes the item immediately, even in the dim lighting of the room. But of course he does. It’s something he’s seen securely attached to Harry’s person for a little over a month. And so he can’t help but adjust his course ever so slightly as he resumes walking, now at a much slower pace, coming to a stop in front of the piece of furniture where the hollowed out remains of Harry’s cast rests on top. 

Without the dark gray of the fabric sling around it, the cast itself is just a pure white in color, save for a fairly new addition from a week and a half ago—back when Harry was starting to go stir-crazy over the inability to use his dominant arm—in the form of a thick black marker scrawled across its plastered surface. 

**Let this cast do its job. It’ll get things straightened out!** Following that it is a simplistic doodle of a smiling winky face with its tongue sticking out, and a floating thumbs-up beside it.  
**-Pete**

A warmth spreads over Peter’s face again, and against his better judgement another small smile shyly tugs at the corners of his mouth, threatening to bubble up into laughter, before it fades. He stands there looking down at the familiar strokes of his handwriting for a little longer, probably too long, and then moves to finally leave the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

When Peter gets back to the living room, he starts making up his bed on the couch, setting the pillow by one end and spreading out two of the three blankets provided to him. After brushing his teeth and changing into clothes more comfortable to sleep in, he turns off the TV and the daily alarm on his phone, lies down underneath the covers, and takes no time at all to let slumber overtake him once the painful hammering against his chest dies down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next Time:** Everything's (not) okay


End file.
